https://thenational.cargo.site thenational.api Wed, 10 Feb 2021 06:24:16 +0000 https://thenational.cargo.site en https://thenational.cargo.site/Home Tue, 22 Dec 2020 04:59:05 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/Home A SOUTHEAST ASIAN QUEER CULTURAL FESTIVAL 2021 PROJECT <img width="4581" height="3708" width_o="4581" height_o="3708" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/29c5840cb5ac74df32c535137e8d203d0f0d4a598f17ac45380eaa16a435aacf/thenational_web_keyvisual_USETHIS.png" data-mid="92846802" border="0" data-scale="57" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/29c5840cb5ac74df32c535137e8d203d0f0d4a598f17ac45380eaa16a435aacf/thenational_web_keyvisual_USETHIS.png" /> Choose your story <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" class="shadowfilter bottleimage" style="width: 20%"> <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5a4c085577e065707035848e9b7aa04961e636306ec25d49d05507191086b629/1999.png" class="shadowfilter bottleimage" style="width: 20%"> <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e338fd184b892701b2ff985015a9a4f7433c5c45ee794062a918723f0fc3363d/2020.png" class="shadowfilter bottleimage" style="width: 20%"> ︎ Your browser does not support the audio element. INSTAGRAM / EMAIL <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/16f4824f2bf49b6f3ea2b17b011966a38d309e80bcb11337f1f9ae00ffa464d5/cc_icon_white_x2.png" style="width: 25px; height: 25px;"><img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/81656ee69f04be78f21fb0dd7ec8bd8edefc5af42ffa1caca5edae6eb46fc91f/attribution_icon_white_x2.png" style="width: 25px; height: 25px;"><img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d7c9cda92b030ab617ec13ec72df81f8a08bac3909d3932fc85f4f1c5ffca86e/sa_white_x2.png" style="width: 25px; height: 25px;">With the exception of images otherwise credited, all content on this site is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-SA 4.0). https://thenational.cargo.site/About-F9 Wed, 02 Dec 2020 02:43:50 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/About-F9 <img width="2000" height="2000" width_o="2000" height_o="2000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/12dfbfb940a3ccf5bd5d9993fb97c581e224ca971010f8aa696f0ef8287ad40a/F9Fine-01.jpg" data-mid="92848695" border="0" data-scale="22" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/12dfbfb940a3ccf5bd5d9993fb97c581e224ca971010f8aa696f0ef8287ad40a/F9Fine-01.jpg" /> About F9 – Fine “I am F9.” The F9 — Fine is a collective comprising&nbsp;@_notthatben who writes, @weiqin.c who curates, and @justinnoahc who designs. Through immersive, thought-provoking narratives, they empower the marginalised to reclaim their identities, weaving a tapestry of their memories to bring their stories to light. Rooted in Singapore, the collective proposes alternative landscapes to inspire a rethinking of queer narratives across borders. With collective strengths across different fields, F9 – Fine offers unique perspectives to queer histories through riveting &amp; alluring narratives. Weiqin Chay Curatorial ResearcherBenedict Lim Writer Justin Chua Designer and Design Researcher Composer Rachel W.yen (@rachelwyen) Rachel Wong Yen Yi is a Malaysian violinist, composer and arranger currently based in Singapore. In the past two years, she has performed in concert halls and on international TV, scored three short films, produced a theme song for a podcast, and had her orchestrations played by the Singapore Symphony Orchestra. In fall 2020, Rachel released her first single “Homesick” under the pseudonym - Yen Océane, which is&nbsp;available on all streaming platforms now. INSTAGRAM / EMAIL https://thenational.cargo.site/Project-Info Wed, 02 Dec 2020 02:43:50 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/Project-Info About TheNational.api A new portal opens on your device, and you are invited to immerse in the stories of how a Malaysian takes root in Singapore while navigating their identity. ︎ Set amidst the city-state’s National Day celebrations across 1966, 1999, and 2020, our protagonists in each time period trudges against the currents of the social order to carve out a space in which they belong. Even in a city that is commonly regarded as a Southeast Asian ideal, queer migrants continue to wrestle between their sense of home, their ambitions, and the familial and societal expectations. Our love may be intertwined with politics, but through that, we see courage, sacrifice, and hope. The format in which you’ll experience this trilogy allows you to be in the shoes of the diverse identities in all of our interconnected histories. Inspired by the malleability of the .API (application programming interface), we hope to continue crafting and sharing narratives that would shape the future of the region’s shared experiences. Music by Rachel W.yen “In the Hall of the Mountain King”Composed by Edvard Grieg Sound Design by Rachel W.yen Additional sound effects: Car ride ambience by Epidemic Ambience https://youtu.be/OgkZPWwjwhk Changi Airport MRT ambience by Maxson Goh https://youtu.be/BtaoVW1dCIU Changi Airport 1997 ambience by M.T. Chaudhry https://youtu.be/b0pYFJ4Ob8c Rain by https://youtu.be/J6G0EuPAoKQ Wind chimes by https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOfRn… Special Thanks Ng Yi-sheng Faisal Husni Chay WeiQin Uma Bhojraj Winifred Wong Site Designed and Developed by&nbsp; Justin Chua (@justinnoahc) <img width="862" height="874" width_o="862" height_o="874" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/86b9bb424418a07471461d67d0312a5f68997f20f91e7c527e11e8276d8f3247/thenational_web_201221-03.png" data-mid="92849187" border="0" data-scale="35" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/862/i/86b9bb424418a07471461d67d0312a5f68997f20f91e7c527e11e8276d8f3247/thenational_web_201221-03.png" /><img width="862" height="863" width_o="862" height_o="863" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/13862c1b73daef1133aee2c4c275a1d66c60c2ad91b91904765125d6659497f0/thenational_web_201221-04.png" data-mid="92849276" border="0" data-scale="35" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/862/i/13862c1b73daef1133aee2c4c275a1d66c60c2ad91b91904765125d6659497f0/thenational_web_201221-04.png" /> <img width="862" height="863" width_o="862" height_o="863" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/32f934b7b2673e084ff4fd2328b8575e4c93989ee61a3690d15d1f895176bebd/thenational_web_201221-05.png" data-mid="92849189" border="0" data-scale="35" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/862/i/32f934b7b2673e084ff4fd2328b8575e4c93989ee61a3690d15d1f895176bebd/thenational_web_201221-05.png" /> INSTAGRAM / EMAIL https://thenational.cargo.site/1966 Wed, 10 Feb 2021 06:15:09 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 35%"> “Putri &amp; Amanah ︎ I look up at the sheet of clean grey above me as I step off the bus, wondering if the rain will impede the march. There’s the scent of festering heat from the asphalt and the concrete pavement, readying to release. But everyone doesn’t notice, and instead they crowd around the food stalls.&nbsp;Smith Street(noun)A small street running through the heart of the Chinatown district in Singapore. The only road in the area to be named after a European. is bustling like the weekday lunch hour because of the parade for Singapore’s first National Day. And at once I see and smell the food around me, the fresh oil from the cakoi(noun)A long golden-brown deep-fried strip of dough commonly eaten in China and (by a variety of other names) in other East and Southeast Asian cuisines. , the smooth fragrance of porridge. A faint whiff of coconut flakes plays in the air too, and I catch sight of two Indian men eagerly waiting for their kueh dadar(noun)Kuih dadar or kuih tayap is a rolled crepe flavored with pandan juice and filled with grated coconut steeped in gula melaka or Malaysian palm sugar. as an old man with skin as brown as my father’s grinding the coconut flesh. <img width="3072" height="2048" width_o="3072" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/652987bc8b119c3ef62fe87bca8e81679687b1e1502638492c1a2bd00c66f631/Section-1_19980000381-IMG0026.jpg" data-mid="98408303" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/652987bc8b119c3ef62fe87bca8e81679687b1e1502638492c1a2bd00c66f631/Section-1_19980000381-IMG0026.jpg" />Image Credits: Ministry of Information and the Arts Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore. (Source) People scurry around, looking for a better spot to watch the parade, even if it’s been going on for an hour by now. There’s a white man with his arms on the waist of a Chinese lady, unhurried by the bustle. They remind me I’m in no rush; I am meeting you later. You’re watching with your parents at the Padang(noun)An open playing field located within the Downtown Core of the Central Area in Singapore., so I thought it’s best I stay away. But it’s been a while, Amanah. I wonder how you’ve been. We could talk for hours, do you remember? Our feet mingled as we picked each other’s brain about the songs on Radio Malaysia while we worked—singing along the sombre crooning of P. Ramlee. ‘It’s like he’s serenading us right here,’ you’d always remark. We’d marvel at how he could play with sounds we knew from our kampung, and even Elvis Presley in ‘Bunyi Guitar’(noun)Bunyi Guitar (The Sound of Guitar), song by P. Ramlee. . I guess I have to be patient, and wait until we meet for lunch, though I’m not sure if you still want to watch the fireworks afterwards. <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%">Next &gt; Your browser does not support the audio element. var coll = document.getElementsByClassName("collapsible"); var i; for (i = 0; i < coll.length; i++) { coll[i].addEventListener("click", function() { this.classList.toggle("active"); var content = this.nextElementSibling; if (content.style.display === "block") { content.style.display = "none"; } else { content.style.display = "block"; } }); } https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-2 Mon, 04 Jan 2021 03:41:37 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-2 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 15%">“Putri &amp; Amanah︎ The crowd is in their full, feverish swing by the time I reach the parade. The street is awash with whites and reds from the cacophony of Singapore flags. Mothers and fathers tug at their children, excited women and men chattering away. It starts to rain, and everyone huddles underneath their umbrellas. The military contingents are marching now, as the band and its fanfare beat resolute to the crescendo. <img width="3072" height="2048" width_o="3072" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5382204c5945e1e7b356f8723aa64f7f83eedea90e7d3ed756586f34555e5576/Section-2_19980005243-IMG0063.jpg" data-mid="97857771" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5382204c5945e1e7b356f8723aa64f7f83eedea90e7d3ed756586f34555e5576/Section-2_19980005243-IMG0063.jpg" />Image Credits: Ministry of Information and the Arts Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore. (Source) I slip underneath the crowd, the wall of horns and drums gripping my lungs. Soon I am by the roadside, the men in green khakis marching right in front of me. All of them look forward with so much intent, like they’re beaming the nation’s purpose against the onslaught of the light morning rain. The music roars louder, so I cup my ears on each side with my hands. And with it, this thought reverberates inside my skull: it’s easy to look ahead and see where you want to go, but what happens when you want to look back, to look at where you come from?&nbsp; When I was applying for Singaporean citizenship two years ago, it felt hopelessly easy. It only took me an hour or two to fill up the form. I was hoping that there would be a little more time to wait, because I heard that UMNO (entity)United Malays National Organisation was offering land to the bumiputera (adjective)a term used in Malaysia to describe Malays and Orang Asli or indigenous peoples of Malaysia or Southeast Asia , that Malaysia would be a better place for the Malays. But in that short afternoon, I switched sides. Just like that: in one door and out the other, I am a Singaporean. The only gripe I had is the section where I had to choose my race. I never understood it—is Kelantanse Malay (adjective + grammar)Of or pertaining to the state of Kelantan in Malaysia. considered Malay? On what grounds? My mother spoke of our northern ancestors to me before—Thailand, I think. The Malay I speak is already so different from the Malay spoken here. I was so surprised when the Malays here couldn’t understand what I was speaking, and I’ve yet to find other Kelanatanese Malays here. So, am I ‘Other’ then? What does that question even mean? In the end, does it even matter? <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%"> &lt; Previous&nbsp;• Next &gt; Your browser does not support the audio element. var coll = document.getElementsByClassName("collapsible"); var i; for (i = 0; i < coll.length; i++) { coll[i].addEventListener("click", function() { this.classList.toggle("active"); var content = this.nextElementSibling; if (content.style.display === "block") { content.style.display = "none"; } else { content.style.display = "block"; } }); } https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-3 Mon, 04 Jan 2021 07:59:30 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-3 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 15%">“Putri &amp; Amanah︎ A breeze finds me as I find my way to the street where the parade is passing. I wonder how many of the people marching in front of me come to this island, in search of the promise of better work. How did they unmoor from the contours of their hometown, the colour of their mothers’ eyes, the scent of wind in the morning? <img width="3072" height="2048" width_o="3072" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4879b7015e3aa530d6061e9a0d698a0e37df37d173681109694280f75996cb66/Section-3_19980005243-IMG0064.jpg" data-mid="97857776" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4879b7015e3aa530d6061e9a0d698a0e37df37d173681109694280f75996cb66/Section-3_19980005243-IMG0064.jpg" />Image Credits: Ministry of Information and the Arts Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore. (Source) Would meeting someone new help, then? Surely, the start of a new life requires new people in them. You certainly made my life in Singapore better. If not for you, my weekends would be long and lost. You’d always plan something for Saturdays—your Sundays were reserved for the madrasah(noun)A college for Islamic instruction. . You’d even check the weather the day before we meet. You took me to so many places: the shining Robinsons and John Little department stores at Raffles Place, the sprawling Telok Ayer Good Centre. You even brought me to watch Singapore’s first-ever&nbsp;Grand Prix (noun)any of a series of motor-racing or motorcycling contests forming part of a world championship series, held in various countries under international rules. . But I suppose the folklores that wrote our past will always resurface, even in a new life. My mother was the one who told me I could still run around and mess about. She told me to go find another river to follow, instead of the one that’s just outside our house. She knew that I always wanted to build something of my own. I’m just like the protagonist from Hikayat Panji Semirang The Hikayat Panji Semirang (Tale of Prince Semirang) is an epic poem—a classic work of literature in the Malay and Indonesian languages still extant today. The story derives from the Hindu-based folklore of East Java and the poem dates from the 14th century. , she told me, always out venturing. She named me Putri, because she wants me to be fearless in the face of reinvention. No matter what. Just like the princess in the story. The rain picks up, the march goes on. Neat rows of schoolgirls and schoolboys now trudge in front of me, the rain dotting their pristine uniforms. I think of the river near my house, how it will start to rush the moment there’s a hint of rain, its swirling surface hiding its speedy currents. My mother would implore me to get inside, before I come home with muddied shoes and the smell of wet grass, her voice ringing against the angry clouds. I’m getting tired of the spectacle, so I peel away from the crowd. After all, it’s time to meet you.<img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%"> &lt; Previous • Next &gt;Your browser does not support the audio element. var coll = document.getElementsByClassName("collapsible"); var i; for (i = 0; i < coll.length; i++) { coll[i].addEventListener("click", function() { this.classList.toggle("active"); var content = this.nextElementSibling; if (content.style.display === "block") { content.style.display = "none"; } else { content.style.display = "block"; } }); } https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-4 Mon, 04 Jan 2021 08:03:36 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-4 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 15%">“Putri &amp; Amanah︎ ‘Maaf (verb)‘Sorry’; to apologise. , walking here took longer than I expected.’ ‘Tak ape lah,’ I reply, trying to sound light. I know you love your parents very much. I admire that part of you. It’s easier for me to leave my parents, because I know I have five other siblings keeping them company back home. ‘Are you alright? Are you tired?’ I ask, but you only shake your head. You’re wearing a kebaya (noun)a light, loose tunic worn by some women in Malaysia, Indonesia, and other SE Asian countries. in light tangerine, softening your firm frame. A cream white shawl adorns your shoulders and the sides of your arms. You tie your hair up into a sleek ponytail, brandishing your square jaw. You give me a tight smile, your perky cheeks lift up, dimples appearing underneath them. But I feel the restraint behind it all. The other girls at the garment workshop have been relentless with their spite ever since they realised we were always together. They constantly chided us for always having lunch by ourselves. They gossip that I have fallen for you only because you look like a man. ‘An ugly man can only settle for a whore, I suppose’, one of them said to you when I wore a miniskirt to the workshop. Another said to me, ‘Well, it's about time you find a man and settle down too, puteri (noun)"daughter, princess" in Malay. .’ I returned her unkindness, ‘Well, at least we won’t die alone. After all, I hardly see any of you hanging on to any man.’ They continued to pester us. And you began to keep your distance. It’s like those countless workday lunches and Friday night dinners were simply illusions. Whenever I tried to talk to you at the garment workshop, you only looked at the empty space beside my feet. The rest of them would always heckle behind us. I felt like the tiniest of ants scurrying for shelter in the monsoon. Now, again, you’re staring at another empty space beside me.<img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%"> &lt; Previous&nbsp;• Next &gt;Your browser does not support the audio element. var coll = document.getElementsByClassName("collapsible"); var i; for (i = 0; i < coll.length; i++) { coll[i].addEventListener("click", function() { this.classList.toggle("active"); var content = this.nextElementSibling; if (content.style.display === "block") { content.style.display = "none"; } else { content.style.display = "block"; } }); } https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-5 Wed, 10 Feb 2021 06:24:16 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-5 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 15%">“Putri &amp; Amanah︎ <img width="3072" height="2048" width_o="3072" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8da9dd99e092c825ecc015a1841d3d31c50035bb583b228ab1dd5cad15d69260/Section-5_19980000463-IMG0005.jpg" data-mid="98408522" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8da9dd99e092c825ecc015a1841d3d31c50035bb583b228ab1dd5cad15d69260/Section-5_19980000463-IMG0005.jpg" />Image Credits: Ministry of Information and the Arts Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore. (Source) ‘Jom makan (phrase)Let's eat! ! You must be hungry after standing for so long,’ I offer, like I’m climbing over a slippery, mossy cliff to reach you. You quietly follow, your eyes only aiming at the ground. I bring you to a kedai kopi (noun)Coffee House. at Lorong Telok. It’s the only one I know that sells roti bakar kaya after breakfast. We find a seat and I order two sets of roti bakar kaya (noun)Kaya toast, a Singaporean breakfast dish consisting of toasted bread and coconut jam. , one kopi for me, and one teh-o for you. The sun is out now, so the fireworks should be safe. You’re still silent, just like the first time I met you at the garment factory. Though I’m happy enough to just be beside you. You’re the only person I talk to at work. The other girls are always unkind, sniping at anything; from the hems I sew or my knobby knees, whatever that means. Only you have the patience to teach me how to weave so smoothly between the fabrics.&nbsp; &nbsp; I already know so much about you, like how you resent your parents for being so protective, and yet you still listen to them. How you can’t seem to enjoy rock n’ roll. I bet I’m the only one in the workshop that knows you love badminton. I wonder now if you ever realised I always let you win. This needs to end. I want to talk to you again. Can we just talk? ‘Look, it’s been so long since we talked. And you never look at me anymore and—’ ‘I know.’ You draw the longest sigh. ‘To be honest, I could care less about what their small minds are gossiping. I’m avoiding you at the workshop because we have so many orders nowadays. What work will the other girls be doing if they keep gossiping about us—they barely do enough as it is.’ ‘Then, you still want to spend time with me?’ ‘Of course! But the others have been feeding nasty rumours to my parents. So they keep me busy at home when I’m not working. They’re sending me to the madrasah(noun)A college for Islamic instruction. even on Saturdays now, saying that it’s time to be a proper lady, so I can find a proper suitor.’ ‘But you are a proper lady!’ You finally laugh, lilting your head backwards. A gush of clear water sweeps over my veins. It’s been so long since I last heard the sound of your joy. I take a deep breath, letting the air fill every corner of my lungs, enjoying the relief flowing through me. Finally, we can talk. ‘Well, such is the fate of the lone daughter in the family.’ You finally look me in the eyes. ‘Even though it felt so grand in the beginning with everyone standing in the Padang, it was beginning to get boring after all the marching.’ You pause, waiting for me to speak. But I am still at a loss that you’re finally talking to me. ‘I’m just happy to be with you,’ you say. You’re looking at the floor again but I don’t mind it as much now. The waiter sets our simple lunch on our table. I dip the kaya toast into the eggs. I don’t know why but everything about it feels so modern, like those American breakfast that the fancy Aurora department store is advertising. It looks so easy and quick to make. I appreciate its simplicity, but I long for richer flavours of my mother’s cooking. I remember the salted fragrance of fried fish gently coaxing me to leave my slumber on some mornings. By the time I step into the living room, the dish will be ready for all of us. I’d marvel at the colours too, the splashes of purple from the rice, the greens from the cabbages, the harkened yellows of the fish and the salted eggs, the sanguine reds of the sambal. I snap away from the fragrant daydream of my mother’s food. You’re pouring a healthy stream of kicap (noun)Soy Sauce. into your eggs. I know the recipe for my mother’s nasi kerabu (noun)A Malaysian cuisine rice dish, in which blue-colored rice is eaten with dried fish or fried chicken, crackers, pickles and other salads. , so maybe next time I can cook for you instead, Amanah. Would my mother approve of you? I think so. You are always steadfast, disciplined, sensible. You’re the complete opposite of me—I can already imagine my mother appreciating that. And you don’t have to worry about my mother. It won’t be the first time she sees something like this. Her own sister is living with a ‘close’ friend in a nice apartment at Kota Bharu. My mother would always bring me along whenever she’s visiting her sister. I remember the way they used to smile at each other; they always smiled at the same time. <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%"> &lt; Previous • Next &gt;Your browser does not support the audio element. var coll = document.getElementsByClassName("collapsible"); var i; for (i = 0; i < coll.length; i++) { coll[i].addEventListener("click", function() { this.classList.toggle("active"); var content = this.nextElementSibling; if (content.style.display === "block") { content.style.display = "none"; } else { content.style.display = "block"; } }); } https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-6 Mon, 04 Jan 2021 08:48:59 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-6 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 15%">“Putri &amp; Amanah︎ We talk for so long we nearly forgot our plan to arrive at the Esplanade earlier. We already know where’s the best spot to watch the fireworks, though we both wonder what was the point of the fireworks when the sky is still so bright. We find a spot at the edge of the park, so we won’t suffocate from the tight crowds. <img width="3072" height="2048" width_o="3072" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/468c4d8b923d77d78d03560251e3d16c086a65884c41877c82a452d5bfc61f2a/Section-6_19980005244-IMG0111.jpg" data-mid="97857828" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/468c4d8b923d77d78d03560251e3d16c086a65884c41877c82a452d5bfc61f2a/Section-6_19980005244-IMG0111.jpg" />Image Credits: Ministry of Information and the Arts Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore. (Source) The hour passes by as smooth as the wind from the bay, the salt tingling at my nose. A swarm of boats and flotillas dots the vast horizon. We talk about our own futures, of what we want for ourselves. We are already twenty eight, after all. That’s when you said you still have no idea what you want in the next few years. ‘Not even a husband to take care of you?’ I ask, nudging at her elbow. ‘Not particularly. Good men are hard to find, no?’ You giggle. ‘Yes, I know I’ve been working there for two years now. But that’s all I know. I don’t even know what I actually like doing.’ You pause to aim your gaze at the sea. ‘How about you?’ ‘Well, I suppose I want to build something of my own. So maybe I’ll set up my own business.’ ‘Oh, is that why you’ve been staying back every Thursday with Encik (noun)Mister. Shang?’ ‘Yes, to learn accounting. Though I’ve been hearing nasty things from the other girls about me, with him being married and all. They even talk about it while they’re in the washroom and–’ You suddenly cup my cheeks, your hands warm against my skin. ‘Stop listening to what they have to say! You’ll never achieve something big if you keep listening to people with small minds.’ <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%">&lt; Previous • Next &gt; Your browser does not support the audio element. var coll = document.getElementsByClassName("collapsible"); var i; for (i = 0; i < coll.length; i++) { coll[i].addEventListener("click", function() { this.classList.toggle("active"); var content = this.nextElementSibling; if (content.style.display === "block") { content.style.display = "none"; } else { content.style.display = "block"; } }); } https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-7 Mon, 04 Jan 2021 04:01:15 +0000 thenational.api https://thenational.cargo.site/1966-7 <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b63b42d903cb3c3a8ec629a2052400872f7455946b5eb73eae3564bb7b3076fb/1966.png" style="width: 35%">“Putri &amp; Amanah (Final Chapter) ︎ I feel steep currents on my face. Just then, the fireworks erupt. We both turn to look at the explosions blossoming across the bay. You lean over the barrier by the water, taking a closer look at the yellows shimmering against the bare sky. The sounds of little thunder scatter across the bay. Everyone around is doing the same. But I find myself looking at you, your tangerine kebaya (noun)a light, loose tunic worn by women in Malaysia, Indonesia, and other SE Asian countries. draping against the wind. I want to peck your cheeks but I’m aware of the people around us, so I decide to hold your hand. You turn to look at me almost immediately, and you question my decision with your furrowing brows. You fight yourself so you can give me a smile. You’re worried, I know. You’re worried there’s no place for the both of us. It’s my turn to cup your cheeks. I lean in closer to you, as the fireworks continue to unravel above us. You don’t fight me. I close my eyes as our lips meet. I feel the rest of the world disappear. The fireworks end. The crowd dissipates, letting the pavements breathe in the evening breeze. Some shoot a glare at our intertwined hands, but I don’t care. You’re smiling, but your brows are still in a knot. I only want a place where we can be together. I’ll go and find it. There must be somewhere on this island where we can build our home. <img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bf4c3a3ba5630eed75d7884e7103c6a0df3b735f826e5087f7041c3805a3a49/glow_0000_Group-4.png" style="width: 15%; height: 15%">&nbsp; &lt; Previous&nbsp;| Home&nbsp; Next Story:<img src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5a4c085577e065707035848e9b7aa04961e636306ec25d49d05507191086b629/1999.png" class="shadowfilter bottleimage" style="width: 30%">Your browser does not support the audio element.